Back through memory

through the old Floreat, the neighbourhood that so recently was still mine and yet now I am but a visitor.

At lunchtime I drove to the Forum to drop off these two films that I haven't got around to developing. And an hour or so later: the aching colours of the Pilbara and the wide ocean vistas from Exmouth. The dear old minolta still has it.
The photos of Karijini and surrounds are the best, yet there is one photo, from Corunna Downs, where the feeling of utter abandonment and solitude in the universe was most complete. Where I tried screaming at the top of my voice, just to see what it felt like. Even the cows weren't interested.
I look at the photos Mat brings sometimes, of his campsites from when he does the drive from Newman. I would shit myself on my own out there (watching Wolf Creek was a bad idea), but there is also a renegade beauty that is infinitely attractive.

I have so much work, and so little oomph to do it tonight. Richard is working on chewing one of my feet off and Perth's wintering rattles the window.